


Right there with you, mate

by tatch



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Discrimination, F/M, Insanity, Multi, Self-Destruction, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7842343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatch/pseuds/tatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cursed, hated, sick, reverred and insane, they were alone.<br/>Until they weren't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right there with you, mate

 

They call her cursed. Monster. Bringer of misfortune. You will never be happy. Your destiny is to be incomplete, forever. It's something she doesn't talk about, how she has so many different words on her skin, so many marks. Even here in the Asylum, she hears them whisper. Have you heard? She belongs here. I hope they realize she should be on the other side of the bars. A freak among freaks. It doesn't define her, those words, so many of them, speaking of hurt and acceptance. She won't let them define her, like so many do, following hints and chasing their tails endlessly. Whenever destiny sees it fit, they will meet, one at a time or all at once, in person or on the phone. It's all details. Whoever her mates are, they will be hers and she'll be theirs.

 

For someone who's aim is beyond perfect, he's been wandering aimlessly his whole life. Money, contracts, cheap motels, classy hotels. He's a drifter. A night there, a girl over here. Barely more than a one night stand but she got pregnant and they had a daughter, a beautiful beautiful daughter. His precious angel doesn't know what pushed her mother away from him, how his soul belonged to others. She just loves him and man, he has longed for someone to love him his whole life. He would do anything, would give anything for her to not bear the weight of his curse. For her to never know the reason why her mother looks at him with such disgust in her eyes, with such venom. It's a secret he'll take with him to the grave if he can.

 

They call him blessed. Chosen by God. Beloved. But they don't know how the words on his skin are in a language he doesn't speak. How, once he's learned, they only speak of pain and insanity, of war and death. It's only fitting that his blessed words come with a price. Fire, endless fire, that burns all without distinction. He gets tatooed and enjoys the pain that is on par with the one he sees written on himself. Regardless of all, she falls in love with him. But he sees the looks sometimes, the way her gaze grows sad and weary, knowing. And maybe it's because of all the bad things he does, he tries to convince himself. But he knows better. It has its part to play in it all but she's tired of the uncertainty, tired of not knowing if he will leave tomorrow, so so tired of not knowing if maybe, the next time he leaves will be the last time she ever sees him. He tries, so hard, to convince her that he loves her above all, but they both know that there's no cheating fate. He won't be hers forever.

 

He has too many words, but there's nothing he can do 'bout that right? So he elects to ignore them, not wanting to know, ignoring those spots where someone, who is bound by fate to be his, has left words. And if one day, during a heist gone wrong he happens to read the words by mistake, damn bullet having lodged itself right under a sentence, he refuses to remember them, refuses to let the words and the possibilities play out in his mind. And maybe, working so hard on denying himself has him deflect everyone, pushing all possibilities away, but he stopped caring a long time ago. Screw destiny. He'll drown the loneliness in booze and money and gals. He doesn't need anyone but himself. He doesn't want them. He doesn't want their gaze who judge him in his sleep, giving him nightmares he can't quite remember and voices that tell him that he's not worth it, he'll never be worth it. He's nothing but a nuisance, nothing but a runt. And if he drinks himself stupid and passes out from exhaustion, there's nobody to care anyway.

 

When the scales covered his skin, part of him went insane. His words were there, written in bold script, written in elegant letters, written for him in the shape of their owners souls. There's no getting them back, but he tries anyway, scratching and clawing at his own skin, digging until there's nothing but blood there. But there nothing but scales. Scales and teeth and weird pupils and has he grown or is it an impression? Not that it matters. He grew claws too at some point, he realizes, as the self inflicted wounds get deeper. He heals faster, he realizes, as his skin closes almost right under his eyes, as the bleeding subsides fast, faster than it should. But it doesn't matter. They were supposed to be his one day, his mates, bound together by fate and now he has nothing left. The words are still there in his mind but they're lost forever. There's a void in his heart, in his soul and maybe it's better this way, for them not to be tied to a monster like him, he comes to think, as people keep on treating like an animal. Wasn't he a man? No. Men have words on their skins. Him? He's nothing but a beast.

 

* * *

 

 

She finds one there, in that hellhole she works in. But he only has her words and no-one elses. He's hers and hers only. But she isn't. And she's still missing so many of them. She'll take the one she can have though and when he realizes that she belongs to so many others, he almost lets her die. But she's his too and as long as it's only with them, he can share her. He won't like it but that's how fate wants it, and the man with the smile screws with all but fate. It's a mistress far too dangerous to anger, even for him and his insanity. He gets them both words all over their skins, fake words and dark curves but the tats fill a hole in her heart she didn't know she had. To look at him, knowing that he made himself another kind of pariah just for her? It's a fire in her heart that starts beating once more. He's jealous and he'll kill and he's insane, but he's hers. So when they lock her away, she knows he'll come get her soon enough.

But then they get her rolling and she hears her words. Some of them at least. They're here. But she can't react and the dark skinned man with a cold face and dead eyes, that man that is hers can't react either. There's a spark in his eyes that wasn't there 5min ago but he doesn't react. They all speak to one another and yes, even that Aussie prick belongs to them, something jagged and broken floating for an instant on his face as he realizes. The croc and the pyro are quieter in their reaction. And they all know, as they share that drink that except for the sword-woman and the soldier, they belong to one another. They are whole, finally. None of them will ever be alone or judged or despised or discriminated. Not by anyone that matters. And it's good, it's perfect really. Except when their born-in-flames is crushed to ashes and wildfire courses through them all, ripping and burning. And she refuses to look at her skin knowing that his words are nothing but scars now, that he's gone, they've lost him. And if killing the witch brings the soldier his love back, they know that for them there is no escape. They are whole, minus one and there's nowhere else they belong. They don't need freedom, for as long as one of them remains they all belong here.

Her prince clown of Chaos comes in to swoop her and she whispers that she found them, she found them all, they're all here. And he tears the place apart, consequences be damned and frees them all. Offers them to stay with him, with them. Tells them that they belong. And for some of them, it takes time. They have unfinished... businesses. But in the end, they're all together. And somewhere, someone must take pity on them because he shows up one day, a bit confused, a bit dazed, covered in ashes. Their phoenix. And they're whole, truly whole once more. And it feels right.

 


End file.
